/ / activity ( if it can even be called that ) will remain sporadic for another week or two. navigating work related horrors for the time being, but sure plan to explore more of this wet cat asap.
brazen is the prince's mania : approach at 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 own risk —— a presence lingers in the crumbled cathedral of garreg mach, readily avoided by passing souls.
soldier. she wanted to pull away, leave the sword, but couldn't —— as if weapon &&. body were one. “ ... i hear my father, even now. your mother, too. they yearn and all you do is run away. how detestable can one be? ”
&&. what a 𝙥𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡 attempt it proved to have him kneeling with such a feeble kick, frame of a raging youth unrelenting in its pursuit of a dainty throat —— to crush it in fucked glory : the hand that rose towards her moved too quick as the emperor suffered from loss
She does 𝒏𝒐𝒕 mourn the corpse, throat mangled by the noose of hands—death is death. Sacrifice is the sworn oath of war. Children march for death, for rot / for change, for life.
Time does not allow for thought—swift as her foe, savage && 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 for gore. A ⊹⁀➴
one of her lambs with a sword thrust into blaiddyd's stretched forearm in pure desperation to keep a wicked touch from edelgard ...
“ ... children of the empire. ”
dimitri twisted his arm 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 into &&. onto the weapon, simple to earn a little shriek from the